


Distraction

by ThatOneWriter15



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Masturbation, POV Second Person, Smut, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 14:07:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21137945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneWriter15/pseuds/ThatOneWriter15
Summary: Sam spends every waking moment either looking for Michael or overseeing Hunters. Gutted by his stress, you decide to give him something else to focus on for the night.





	Distraction

The sight is all too familiar.

Sam. Sitting at the map table. Attention flitting from dusty lore books to a laptop with a dozen tabs running to his incessantly-vibrating cell phone.

The new scruff he dons isn’t enough of a mask. You can still see the crimson twinge in his eyes from little sleep. The flare of his nostrils from the perpetual frustration. The hard-set frown on his tight lips from dissatisfaction.

The man you love has all but given himself away. To the quest of locating Michael, the archangel wearing his brother, one of your best friends. To the new gang of Hunters--one of whom always seems to have an inquiry about some mission or monster.

There isn’t much left for you, for _the two of you_. And while you miss Sam something awful even when he’s right next to you, you understand. Saving Dean, training the troops--it all swims in the essence of Sam Winchester. The younger brother. The teacher. The caring, compassionate soul.

But it’s been weeks like this. He’s nearing the end of his rope; you can sense it.

In all honesty, you’re not doing too well, either. Losing Dean and watching Sam run on fumes create a weight that’s nearly impossible to carry. But you won’t _add_ your stress to Sam’s shoulders.

No, you _take away_ what you can. You’re researching nearly as frequently as he is, and if you’re able to make it to a Hunter before they reach Sam, you provide the requested answers.

Sometimes, your gesture’s smaller. Your hand in his. A quick smooch. Resting your head on his chest when he collapses into bed for his three hours.

But none of it has been enough. So, tonight, you’re ready for another approach.

“Sam?”

Despite all the distractions in front of him, his eyes travel your way. “Hey.”

The genuine warmth in his smile makes your heart ache as you sit beside him. How you long for what your relationship was before Dean said yes. The binge-watching. The late-night talks. The supreme lovemaking.

He swivels in his seat to face you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie. “Are you?”

Sam chuckles dryly. “No.” He pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “All of this...” He gestures to the information center on the table. “It’s useless. I’m getting nowhere.” Sam sighs heavily and places his hand on your knee. “And I _miss you_.”

You refuse to cry, so you nod rapidly instead. “I know. I miss you, too.”

His thumb swipes back and forth along the tear in your jeans. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You’re not looking for an apology; you don’t need one. “We want the same thing here, Sam.” You lean over to caress his cheek. “I _get it_.”

Tears spring to his summery eyes.

You pull your chair closer so that you can slide one of your legs between both of his. Your lips hover by his earlobe. “But, _tonight_... you’re mine.”

Before Sam can say anything, you stand. “I asked Cass if he’d be okay with covering your duties. He didn’t mind at all. So, the Hunters will be reporting to him until sunrise.” You extend your hand, feeling the thrill of your plan tingle through you. “Come with me.”

Research momentarily forgotten, Sam eagerly follows you to the bedroom you share.

You lead him inside. He stops abruptly, taking in the… props. You smirk to yourself as you close and lock the door.

A wooden dining chair you found in some storage room and a couple strands of rope wait a few feet from the end of the bed.

“What is this?” Sam marvels.

“Sit,” you simply state.

He chuckles, excitement and nerves evident in the sound.

But he obeys.

You kneel before him. Making intense eye contact, you roll down the sleeves of his red-and-white flannel. Taking him by his wrists, you place his forearms on the armrests.

“Wouldn’t want you to get rope burn,” you tease.

“Wh--”

In response, you begin securing his limbs to the chair. You can feel his breath trembling by the time you finish.

“Pages and screens…” you sigh as you rise to your feet. “That’s all you’ve seen lately. You deserve to… examine… something else. _Someone_ else.” Your tongue slips out to wet your bottom lip. “So, sit back, relax… and _watch_.”

Sam whispers your name--a mix of a question and a plea.

You remove your boots, jeans, and t-shirt and climb onto the bed. Resting on your knees, you make sure your audience is focused. He’s fixated on your matching teal bra and underwear.

He’s ready, and so are you. Oh, how you’ve been ready for _weeks_.

You trail your fingertips along your neck and collarbone. Goosebumps arise within seconds. You recall the feeling of Sam’s mouth exploring the same selection of skin and sigh heavily at the memory.

Soon, your palms claim the heft of your covered breasts. The lace gently scratches you with the continued motion.

Your quest is having the desired effect. Sam’s breathing has quickened, and he’s blatantly straining against the fly of his jeans.

You lock eyes with him as your arms curl behind your back. In one fluid motion, you remove your bra and toss it in Sam’s direction. With unbelievable luck, it drapes itself across his lap. A couple of fast pants escape his lips.

Seeing him starting to crumble doubles the demand screaming from your own touch-starved body. You cup your free breasts, knowing Sam is desperately wishing it were his huge, rough hands sliding over your soft skin.

“Sa-a-am,” you whine as your flick your thumbs over your hardened nipples.

Still playing with your chest, you relish Sam’s shameless high-pitched moan. His gaze never leaves your torso as his wrists strain against the rope. Face flushed and open-mouthed, it’s clear you should move this along before you torture him much worse--before your torture _yourself_ much worse. You need friction. Now.

You lean back against the arranged pillows on the bed. Biting your bottom lip for full effect, you lift your hips off the mattress and slowly slink your underwear all the way down to your ankles. You free one leg completely and use the other to fling the fabric across the room.

“Jesus Christ…” Sam murmurs. His hips twitch.

“Baby…” you whisper as you separate your knees, fully exposing yourself to him.

He gulps. “H-holy sh-it,” his voice crackles.

Your hands cascade over your stomach and along the inside of your thighs a few times. It’s mainly for show. You’re already soaked.

Finally, finally, finally, you allow two digits to caress the yearning heat of you. The low “o-o-oh” you release is one-hundred-percent authentic.

Your entire body flinches when you first graze your clit. In absolute agony, you begin to trace small, tight circles on the sensitive flesh.

Your eyes squeeze shut, consumed with pleasure to the point where you’re barely aware of Sam’s presence. As you ascend higher and higher, a chorus of gaspy moans and obscene squelching deafen you to all else.

Until your hear the cracking.

Startled out of your trance, you look down the length of your body to see Sam standing at your feet. Rope and splinters of wood hang from his sleeves.

_He fucking snapped the arms off the chair._

With a few shakes, he frees himself of the debris. His palms come to rest on either side of your ankles. Hair dangling in his face, he hovers above you. Sweating, panting, all-but-snarling, his eyes devour you. But he remains still.

“Finish me off,” you command.

In a split second, Sam’s mouth collides with you. His tongue explores your depths while his sleek nose bumps against your clit.

And in no time, you’re screaming.


End file.
